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She's not only a psycho, she's my friend!...

Several coincidences today.

The first is that last week Tracy mentioned doing another guest entry. Since the last one she wrote got nominated for a award (we should know today whether it won or not), I'm sure not going to tell her not to write one. I mean, if she wants to write all my entries from now on and just let the people back a U-Haul up to my house full of trophies, who am I to argue?

The timing, coincidentally, ended up that I'm posting her guest entry today, on her birthday. So happy birthday, Tracy. I wish you'd hurry up and get your own site up soon, so you can win your own damn awards already.

Also, after a very trying and emotional day at work (more on that Friday if I'm allowed to talk about it by then) I came home to a very bulky, eight-page handwritten letter from her. The tone was sad, but it made me happy to read. It took me back to the days when we exchanged these kinds of letters regularly. It warmed me to see her words in teal ink instead of black text on a screen.

That's the most remarkable thing, I think. That 11 years after we met, her words still challenge me and make me want to know more. I want Tracy to write. I want her to write every day.

So here she is. Treat her good. (By the way. She is neither fictional nor dying of leukemia [that we know of]. Just thought you'd like to know.)


Hi, it's me, Tracy again. You remember me, right? Omar's friend? The one he lets write his journal sometimes? Good. Hate to think I hadn't made an impression.
Anyhow, yeah, I was chatting with Omar on the AIM today and I told him he should write a Happy about crazed obsessive psycho bitch stalker chicks [You mean how Brooke Burke is all up in my face and wanting to get with me? Not that that's true or anything. In fact, I just made myself very sad. Damn. -- Omar] and he said that's a great idea, why don't you do it? And I said, why? Why do you want me to do it, are you trying to say something? And he said, yeah beeyotch, wanna make something of it and I said, why the nerve of you, I'll tae kwon do your butt up and down the Rio Grande (that's near Austin, right?) and he said...

Tracy is not Courtney Love. I mean, not yet, at least..
Okay, I made some of it up, but the point is I think Omar asked me to do this as some sort of mental health exercise, because he's worried about me. Always looking out for my mental health, Omar is. One day I'll have to tell y'all the story of how he called me in a psych hospital once and the little gang-banger kid who answered the phone came and got me out of the shower and I was so excited it was Omie that I just put on my overalls with no underwear on and all the other nut jobs were like "Hey, you aren't wearing any underwear?" And I was like, "Go take your lithium you bipolar perv."
Oops... guess I already told the whole story. Um, one day I'll tell you the story of how Omie and I met. Makes him look really bad though, so I'll have to wait until my site is up (Any day now! I'm serious this time! I know I've been saying that, but I lost my domain and server space in the divorce. I'm not making this up. The ex also got my paella pan — like he even knows that you gotta make paella with Valencia, not Arborio rice. He just took it to be spiteful, yes he did.)
But I digress... We were talking about crazed obsessive psycho bitch stalkers and why Omar thought I might be the person to write about them... Well, I have a confession to make... I, Tracy, am a crazed obsessive psycho bitch stalker.

It's true... I'm so ashamed but I just can't stop myself.




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